


Hate To Love You

by Otonymous



Series: Kinktober Writing Challenge [5]
Category: MLQC: Fandom, love and producer, 恋与制作人 | Liàn Yǔ Zhì Zuò Rén | Mr. Love: Queen's Choice (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angry Sex, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate Sex, Mild Gore, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 20:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: Only Lucien can make you love and hate so strongly.





	Hate To Love You

**Author's Note:**

> My fifth entry for the 2019 Kinktober challenge! 
> 
> Please note that there are spoilers for the game up to and including Chapter 13!
> 
> This is a dark read, but I just wanted to clarify that at no point at all in this story does Lucien ever lay a hand on MC in terms of striking her. 
> 
> Please check out the tags/trigger warnings listed above, and refrain from reading if any of these make you uncomfortable at all (because that's the last thing I'd want to do)! <3
> 
> That being said, happy reading! :)

Metallic copper in her mouth, but the blood wasn’t her own.

She looked at him beneath her, focused on the crimson smear at the corner of his rapidly swelling lip before shifting her gaze to her knuckles, where pain was finally beginning to register after connecting with the sharp line of Lucien’s jaw.

No. Not Lucien.

_Ares._

The disfigured man between her legs, one eye bandaged to leave the other staring, dark and sharp to hold her hostage even as she took him within herself, hips rising until just the tip remained…only to bury him deep once more, coming down hard on his pelvis in the hopes that skin would bruise purple before fading to blue.

Fade, like how she wished thoughts of him would disappear from her mind— no more hate, and love no longer. Just a blank slate where their story had been written.

“Ahh! Lu—“

He hits at just the right angle and she bites her cheek, choosing to choke on his name than give him the pleasure of hearing it roll off her tongue, needy and _vulnerable._ She realizes now the error of her calculations, having not fully accounted for the consequences of fucking him so violently — how it amplified her ecstasy to feel him rubbing rough and deep, shadows of pain teasing at the bright bliss of pleasure.

Love marred by hate.

He had sensed it too, the conflict between rage and desire manifesting in taut muscles of the body that pinned his to the ground. Felt it in the soft dip of her abdomen when the diaphragm descended to fill lungs with air. Heard it when she finally gave voice to a strangled cry as she scratched and clawed, seeking to inflict damage as compensation for injuries sustained.

In spite of everything — the blooming bruises, the broken skin — Ares would take all she had to give.

He willed himself to suffer the torture of stilling his hips under her command, silencing the primal instinct that prodded him to fuck her till she grew senseless. To remain composed even as the front of his trousers - unceremoniously pushed aside to reveal his painfully hard cock — soaked in her arousal, the slick sound of her wetness accentuated with every desperate grind of her hips at the end of each downstroke.

And when his tongue sweeps out to moisten lips parted from exertion, the sight of fresh blood gathering beneath disturbed clots sends her into a frenzy and she is yanking open his dress shirt, scattering buttons in haphazard directions across her living room floor to take their place amongst overturned chairs and broken glass.

Then, nails sinking into the flesh of his exposed chest, she rakes from collarbone to groin, fighting the euphoria in her features to feel him twitch and pulse within herself as inverted furrows bloomed red along that muscular torso.

Marking him as his betrayal had marked her.

Weakness finally taking hold as it so often did when it came to her, Ares relents to lay a gloved hand upon perfect skin, relishing the heat that permeates black leather travelling from curved shoulder to delicate throat, the pad of his thumb resting on the concave notch just to feel it undulate beneath his touch when she swallows.

He looks upon the flush spreading pink all the way to her nipples, admires the enticing angles of their hardened peaks against the curvature of her breasts…senses the pull as they beckoned to lips and tongue, the sight stirring the tenderness that pooled at the pit of his stomach.

It was not enough.

It is never, _ever, _nearly enough.

So teeth latch onto leather fingertips, the glove sliding off with an impatient jerk of the head — anticipation manifesting all the while in a tremble coursing through his hand. He tugs against the tension in his arms, restrained within the sleeves of a black trench which miraculously stayed in place during their struggle from which her blouse emerged badly torn, barely covering her breasts left bare after he ripped the front of her brassiere with a singular yank of his large hand.

She had glared at him then, aggression oozing from every pore even as her chest heaved beneath the dizzying illumination of a ceiling lamp, swinging like a pendulum after it stopped the trajectory of a vase thrown from across the room.

Even still, he had caught the lust that bled into her glare, picked up on the scent that hinted at the beginnings of arousal. And before his gaze had the chance to fall upon the subtle way her thighs pressed together beneath her skirt, she had thrown herself against him — the full force of her body toppling them both to the ground to lay amongst scattered paper and crumpled photographs:

Research papers and love letters.

Polaroids of embraces in white lab coats...the technicolour happiness of halcyon days.

Then, amidst the tangle of memories, she kissed him. Ran her tongue over his gashed lip to taste the iron in his blood. Shuddered to hear his breath hitch when her teeth sank into the cut.

“Ngh!”

Ares groaned, guttural and deep, when she finally freed his erection, nails tracing light along his shaft before she fisted the head to _squeeze_, the unique mixture of pain and pleasure on his face so erotic it incited her to seek pleasure at any and all costs.

So she did.

Captured his gaze as she slid back onto her heels to spread those legs wider as she straddled him. Hiked up her skirt and pulled lace aside without hesitation to reveal blushing folds moist with need — Ares entranced by the sight of her fingers sliding in to prepare herself to receive him, tapered digits reemerging each time creamier than the last.

And when she finally lowered herself onto his cock, hard and hot, the violent beating of his pulse is deafening in his ears, almost overwhelming when combined with her taste in his mouth, his tongue lapping obediently at every finger she pushed past his lips while rocking on his groin.

All the while, he studies her. Feels her slide slick as she rode him with ferocity, as if revenge could be exacted from an act of love. Watched as she fought to keep her eyes cold despite the way they glazed over with the shiny veneer of lust. Savoured the control she exerted over him: nails at his throat and teeth on his skin…the way she kept his wrists pinned to foil every attempt to touch the body he knew like the back of his hand.

He also knew she was close by the way she fluttered and clenched, rhythm faltering as her legs trembled against his hips. And then, _he_ felt it, that irresistible pull dragging slow but steady, tension coiling tight in a body that had been conditioned to seek pleasure in seeing _her_ pleasured.

Ares would see to her release if it was the last thing he ever did.

So he licks along the length of his finger, and she is too distracted to notice when he brings his hand to the swell of her backside, tracing the luscious seam between supple flesh before it finds the secret space she only ever allowed him entry before.

Then, he pushes against the tightness, encounters that familiar resistance before his finger finally succeeds in sliding up to the knuckle where he _feels_ her. That searing warmth. The muscles that twitched even as they relaxed on instinct to admit him. And when her spine curves as the taut line drawn from head to toe snaps upon the intrusion, her release is carried on a wave of nostalgia so strong it is _Lucien_, once more, beneath her.

Lucien…as if he never left.

And when he sees the tears spill from her eyes, feels the sorrow in her ecstasy, shudders rack his body in a climax so violent it threatens the very rhythm of his heart until his breath comes quick in gasps.

Even so, as the girl slumps over his chest in exhaustion, Ares thinks there would be no sweeter deliverance than at the hand of the woman he lived solely for. 


End file.
